Allie set a bowl of oatmeal in front of Evan and another in front of Edward—the trays of their high chairs charmed to hold the bowls in place. “You didn’t answer me. You didn’t tell me why you didn’t ask what they were hiding.”

“Because, bottom line, as much as he’s like no Gale that’s ever been, Jack is a Gale. As much as she’s a little too fond of the end justifying the means, Catherine is a Gale. And Charlotte, who could make us believe whatever was easiest for her but doesn’t, is a Gale. Even for the Wild Powers, family comes first.”

Allie could see that, as far as Auntie Gwen was concerned, that was that.

She wanted to believe that was enough, that the secret Charlie and Jack were hiding would come second to family, but she didn’t. Not quite. How could they keep secrets and still put family first?

It didn’t help when, after breakfast, Charlie announced she’d be leaving for a few hours.

“Why?”

“I’ve got some things to do, Allie-cat.” She turned from setting a stack of dirty dishes on the counter and spread her hands. “People to see.”

Allie knew that grin. It had nothing to do with humor or pleasure or anticipation and everything to do with deflection. But not this time. “Who?”

“What difference does it make?”

Allie lifted Evan out of the chair and folded her arms as he raced for his brother, already freed. “It makes a difference because I asked and you’re not telling me.”

“I don’t tell you everything I do, Allie.” The grin was gone, leaving Charlie looking both more and less like herself, the familiar caught in an overlay of other. Then Allie blinked, and she was Charlie again. Charlie, who didn’t come to bed last night. Charlie, who put Jack back into his seat with a glance. Jack who was Wild like Charlie was Wild.

“I don’t ask about everything you do,” Allie said softly and knew Charlie heard the reason. Please, don’t lie to me.

“If you must know,” Charlie sighed, “I’m going to see Auntie Catherine. I may not have asked the right questions when I talked to her yesterday. And I wasn’t going to tell you,” she continued as Allie opened her mouth, “because you get all weird about your grandmother, and I didn’t want to get into it with you.”

“I do not get weird about my grandmother.”

“Yeah, you do.”

The words weren’t dismissive, Allie decided watching Charlie walk to the door. Presented as inarguable fact, they were worse than dismissive. They were patronizing. “Maybe because she manipulated my life and David’s life and my parents’ lives and Michael and Brian—who aren’t even family—to get David and me here . . .”